As I'm sure the whole world is well aware of the Sandy Hook Shooting in Newtown, Connecticut. I like I'm sure most of not just our country but people across the world are deeply saddened and in shock, and because of this I really at this moment don't see a point in echoing the same tones of loss which we are all aware of.
What I would like to talk about is how this event and also a wonderful article written by Liza Long titled "I Am Adam Lanza's Mother" has caused me to reflect deeply on the person I am today, and the person I could have been. You see, when Liza was describing her own son, I couldn't help but think of how closely he resembled me as a child. As I continued to read her story I heard echos from my own mother, and I started to freak out a bit to realize just how close I had come to causing such drastic harm on so many people. I'm pretty sure there are a few things that prevented me from getting to this point, but I'm pretty sure part of it was that I'm 36 years old, and when I was in school I at that time don't remember having seen or heard of such things happening in schools. Had I heard of such stories maybe I'd have realized it was much more doable than I thought.
I would like to take this time to tell you part of my story, some of the things I plan to mention I have not ever told to anyone. On top of that I can't think of a single person in my life today that has heard all of this combined.
I was born male, but at the age of 28 I started transition so in my youth I was socialized male. I wanted to put that out there for anyone questioning how close to the reality I really was. I also would like to say that since I started transition, I have become far less aggressive and angry. Before anyone wants to jump on this last statement I'd like to point out that I in no way am implying that those who open fire on innocent people are dealing with gender issues, all I'm saying is that I myself do not carry the anger that I used to, and I'm pretty sure this has everything to do with the fact I no longer feel oppressed or forced into situations that didn't fit me.
I grew up in children's homes off and on most of my life, this had much to do with my mother not knowing how to deal with me. I was a very very angry child, and I have heard stories from my mother having to push her dresser in front of her bedroom door at night to prevent me from coming in. She said she had done this because she feared that I would come in there in the middle of the night and kill her. I'm not sure how early those fears for her were but I do know they dated back before I was in 6th grade. I also was a very smart child and had scored just a few points from qualifying for the gifted classes in middle school. Now that combination of anger and intelligence can be deadly calculating.
I can remember being around 10 or so and drawing pictures of razor blades when doors in the center of them and blood dripping. At 5 years or or so I remember handing myself from a tree in my Grandmother's year with the garden hose that was tied to a branch for swinging. Sometime in those same early years I also set a neighbors bush on fire that was right up against their house. I had a fascination for anything that could be destructive. When I was either in middle school or high school, I honestly don't remember, I was this time that the house parents of the children's home I was in found a milk crate that had the stuffing of a toy bunny rabbit. I had gotten the bunny for Easter, and at some point had gotten so angry that I'd ripped the head off and gutted it of all the stuffing. Instead of throwing it away I put it in a milk crate in the top of my closet and kept it there for a long time afterwards. One time my Grandmother tried to spank me with a belt for acting up, and I grabbed the belt from her during the struggle at some point I had let go and she had fallen and hurt herself. At the time I honestly don't think I felt bad about it, but more so I believe there was a darkness in me that felt as if I had won. I would like to point out that much of what I am writing about I am not happy or proud of myself for those actions, I still to this day live with much of the guilt. I had issues with cutting myself, but that's not the worst of it. I can remember getting so angry that I would start hitting myself in the head, or start banging my head against walls and other things as hard as I could. Sometimes, I would get so angry I'd just start biting myself, on my arms, in the soft flesh between my thumb and index finger. During these fits of rage I would be either screaming, or almost growling in a very animal like way. From what I understand from my mother and others that have seen such anger from me, my eyes would glaze over and the sweet person I often was was no longer there.
For me I did get taken to get therapy, matter of fact I went to therapist most of my youth. But the problems never really resolved themselves then. It wasn't until my junior year in high school when I was sent to a treatment center did things start to work on going away, but I'll get to this in a moment.
You see the reason this early therapy never helped me is because of a few facts I do believe. For one this was during the 80's and early 90's and many of the signs they should have been looking for they didn't even know to look for them. Also, my environments was part of my problem. You can have all the therapy in the world, but if you are spending each day in a house with a mother who is blaming you for her having to take sleeping pills and nerve pills, then you are only being reinforced that you are a bad person. You can have all the therapy in the world, but if you spend days where your Grandmother is laying hands on your head when you act up and praying to Jesus to "Let the demons leave this house Lord, let the demons leave this child Lord", how can you not start to feel as if you really are the epitome of evil.
Everywhere I turned I was in one way or another being told that I was a bad person, that something was wrong with me. I already didn't feel wanted, with a father that I never met and being tossed in and out of group homes or back and for between my grandparents, mother, and aunt. I felt I was not wanted, I mean after all who wants to keep something that is bad, most throw it out.
Now with all of that going on let's get into how I felt inside. I was very frustrated at the time, and would get agitated very easily, I felt that no one understood me and I simply found it hard to relate to people. Not only that I knew that there was something not right about myself, but also knew it was something that was a no no to even talk about. I felt like I had no place in the world. Often times I would get so angry or upset by my family, teachers, houseparents, other kids that I'd have thoughts and visions of doing bad things to them. I sometimes had even vocalized such wishes, and I honestly don't every remember apologizing for them. I would stare at people and in my head watch them die.
With everything I've said so far you can imagine how shocked I am these days when I catch up with people from my past and they have memories of me being a sweet or kind person. The truth is I was both, and the anger and darkness in me that would come to the surface had everything to do with no one listening to me and paying attention when I was trying to find a way to tell them something is different or wrong. I just wanted so desperately for one just one person to sit down with me, without judgement, and help me say the things I needed and couldn't say. I needed that one person to show me that they cared, and they didn't think I was a bad person. I needed that one person to be willing to be on my side for once.
I did find that person, it was when I was in a metal treatment center I had been sent to after trying to kill myself early in my junior year of high school. It wasn't one of the staff however, but rather a girl who was also at the treatment center also. I remember her and I talking and at some point I told her that I didn't feel like a boy, that I felt I was a girl. She didn't laugh or judge me in anyway, and shortly before I was being sent to a second treatment center, because my mother was not willing to take custody of me and the group home I was in would not take me back I told my therapist at the center. She made me promise to tell the therapist once I got to the new center. I did after some time, this was the same therapist that told me on the day of my evaluation that I shouldn't have even been there because my issues could be worked on, but due to no one wanting me I spent a total of 6 months in there on top of the 2 months prior I had spent at the place before. During my time there the girl I had first told sent me a letter, in the letter she said I hope they are treating you like a King or Queen in there, except the words "King" and "Queen" were coded by numbers each number representing a letting in the alphabet. It was then for the first time in my life I did not feel I was a bad person, I felt like people were actually listening to me, it was then that I started working to let go of my anger. I did still take several more years to work thought things, but I did.
I'm now 36, I have been living for full-time as my true self since 2004. I also know that I suffer from Major Depression with Manic Episodes (I was diagnosed before bipolar was as well know), and I also have Asperger's.
I'm not implying that any of those who have committed mass public shootings, have any of the same things I have, but I am pretty much willing to bet they have all felt written off at some point. They wanted or needed someone to just listen to them at some point. They were struggling with something and those around did not pick up the signs because did didn't know what they were seeing, or they simply wrote them off as being disturbed, sick, evil, angry, or crazy.
Writing this I was terrified, of how people might judge me or start to see me differently, because it is all too common to write those dealing with mental issues or problems off. We as s society prejudge them, we often times write their value off, believing they cannot be a valuable member of society. This is not the case, I now have a full-time career, I have been very active in may communities and I'm pretty sure that most who know me would have some good things to say about me. This is because I have always wanted to contribute to society I just needed people to believe I was already a contribution.
With the death of so many innocent lives, we once again find ourselves talking about gun control, increasing treatment for the mentally ill and anything other idea we might have to prevent this from happening in the future. I am not going to get into those debates here, but let me ask you this can each and everyone one of use stop placing those who have mental disorders in a box that will prevent them from feeling wanted in our society? Can we stop treating metal disorders as a dark dirty secrets? Can we stop pointing fingers when we know we are struggling as well?
Also apart from making metal health care more accessible, I'd like to ask are we willing to make ourselves more accessible to each other? In the golden age of communication why are we all so disconnected from each other? It wasn't a therapist that first made me feel heard, it was a peer who did so.
- With much love to you all.
Lindsay Stone
